


Won't Bow

by dasakuryo



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, WestallenHiatusWeek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasakuryo/pseuds/dasakuryo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Written for the <a href="http://westallenhiatusweek.tumblr.com/">WestallenHiatusWeek</a>, Assassins!AU theme.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Barry Allen has always blurred the line between morals and duty, as all bounty hunters do. When an Imperial Senator asks for his services, he can't believe his luck. He's meant to retrieve sensible information for the Empire, and prevent it from falling into the hands of those rebelling against the newly established order. However, the thief herself will make him realize there's another whole different story to the Republic fall, a truth that would make him question his own motivations and future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Bow

**Author's Note:**

> My soul has been consumed by this AU. Join me in Star Wars hell :)

Barry pulled his hood down. A protocol droid approached to his table with his order. He waved the droid with its nonsensical polite chatter away. The strong flavour of the liquor made him wince as he swallowed it down.

He scanned his surroundings with casual, swift gazes around. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Criminals, smugglers, prostitutes, individuals of dubious reputation, trouble-makers and, of course, poor souls drinking their problems or lives away. Nothing he'd not already seen that deep down Coruscant. The lower levels weren't precisely house of the so deemed _finest_ in the galaxy.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a diverse group glaring at him. A young male Besalisk, two sternful male Zabraks and a female Kel'Dor. His fingers tightened around his glass, and his free hand went to rest on the holster at his hip.

He scanned the room again, slower this time. His eyes squinted, trying to spot anything or anyone that seemed out of place. A female Zabrak winked at him from across the room in the brief second they locked eyes. Under other circumstances he'd have probably reacted in turn, raising an eyebrow and shooting her a side, mischievous smile―

But that night he was there on business.

And knowing his potential associates reputation, he surely wanted to keep that little business chat from any of his acquaintances and, most importantly, the general public. A well respected public figure couldn't be seen in the Senate hallways talking to a person of his field of expertise, let alone be heard requesting his services. It all had to be dealt with the proper sensitivity. A finer caliber of Imperial as his potential employer couldn't be seen mingling with such scum.

He grimaced as he took another sip. Respectability was overrated in the galaxy. Especially since the Clone Wars. His fingers wrapped around the blaster breech when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, over the noise of the music and constant buzzing chatter.

They lax, however, as soon as he felt his chin being grabbed and tilted to one side. His green eyes met the yellow ones of the very same Zabrak from before. He kept them on her face as she trailed her fingers along his jawline. Her eyes darted over his face, as she frowned. He raised an eyebrow when her lips curled into a smile. She giggled, before invading his personal space even further.

"You're pretty for a human," she observed, hooking a finger on the collar of his shirt, right on his sternum, "waiting for someone?" her voice was silvery, with a ring of curiosity reinforced by her furrowed brow. The carmin facial markins on her creamy-coloured skin enhanced the brightness of her eyes. She made no attempt to mask her intentions whatsoever.

He crooked his lips and tilted his head, "something tells me you'll try to convince me your company will be more," he wetted his lips, " _enjoyable_."

The group of humanoids that had been eyeing him grow restless, especially the two male Zabraks. There was no doubt then they were glaring at him, and Barry was of the suspicion that the key problem was the woman's attention was focused on him.

She pouted, "so I was failing at it?" her finger on his chest pulled down.

"I'm afraid so, miss,” he answered in a flat, casual tone. His free hand slid underneath the holster and drew the blaster out. He placed it cautiously on his bent knee, ready to pull it to her side. If needed, he could scare her off without drawing too much attention to himself. But before he could move another muscle, she had gripped his jaw and her face was milimetres away from his.

"Next time follow directives closely,” her breathing itched on his lips, and even though her voice was soft, there was an edge of menace to its velvety character, “the back alley of the bar is not the same as the bar itself, bounty hunter,” he detected mockery.

"I'll make sure to be more mindful next time, sweetheart,” he retorted, eyes fixed on hers defiantly, he made sure to shoot her a conceited smile. She grunted, but tightened the hold on his face.

"Follow me," she breathed, “and make it look good. If anyone goes after us, I'll skin you.”

He chuckled softly, “is your boss aware that commlinks exist? You could have been spared the inconvenience.”

She smiled, but even though the light was dim, he was sure her jaw was clenched nonetheless. She tilted her head slightly and answered viciously against his lips, “transmissions can be intercepted. There must be no record of this settlement, smuggler.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You're _late_ ,” an awfully calm voice echoed on the storage facility as soon as they stepped inside.

They had spent half an hour taking detours and turnings, going up and down the spidery web of dim lit streets. Barry was sure nobody had followed them from the bar, but his guide insisted on taking the longest route with the most turns, for prevention. Barry took a wild guess that she wasn't doing it just for prevention sake, but rather out of the fear of the retaliations she could be subject to if anything went wrong. She'd be the one to take the fall if anyone discovered the whole affair, rather than the person she was working for.

Their interlocutor was a human male; his eyes were sharp on both of them. He sighed, and arranged the collar lapels of his black robe to fit neatly around his neck. He rolled his eyes and waved condescendingly at his associate when the woman tried to explain the reason behind their belated arrival. His eyes darted to Barry's face. His lips curled up in a grin, an apparent soft grin that made Barry shiver. It wasn't the way he smiled, but rather the way his whole expression seemed to _darken_ when he did so, there was something foul about this job. Barry squared his shoulders and rested his right hand atop his blaster.

“We're all friends here,” the man chuckled, his eyes narrowed when his grin widened, “there's no need to get defensive among business partners, is it?” he added, wiggling his fingers as he paced towards him.

Barry remained with his arms akimbo as he raised an eyebrow, “I'm afraid I am not used to deal with such,” he pressed his lips together, trying to come up with the proper word, “ _respectable_ employers. One picks up habits after doing business in the Outer Rim for so long,” he added casually, but without changing his stance in the slightest.

The man scanned him from head to toe. His gaze stopped on the twin blasters, one at each hip on the holster belt. He nodded and chuckled appreciatively upon noticing the handle of the Treppus-2 Vibroblade coming out from underneath his leather jacket patch. He pointed at it and pulled an amused face.

“From where I come from, showing up armed to a meeting is considered extremely rude—”

“From where I come from, it keeps you alive,” Barry cut in acidly, “what's the job you have for me?” he didn't mince his words.

When the man got closer, the dim yellow light played with golden glows on his skin, his dark hair had a blue-ish lustre even when arranged in that ridiculous and flamboyant headdress. If the boastful way the man carried himself, how he seemed to be pleasantly strolling in that forsaken, foul-stench and dirty storage building wasn't enough to give him away, then his attire certainly did. A Senator of the Empire. Barry's eyes narrowed and he had to choke down a grunt. Politicians. Self-conceited bastards, hadn't been for the fact he was in need of many credits to pay off a debt, he'd have already turn on his spot to get out of there.

“Nothing too troublesome. Someone stole sensitive information from the Empire, and the Empire wants it back,” the man answered, flipping through a data-pad. He handed it over with a swift movement of his hand.

Barry squinted at the brightness of the blue light. His eyes grew wide and he had to blink several times. He pressed his lips together to keep the grunt from escaping his mouth. This had to be some kind of joke.

“A Holorecord? You need me to get you a _holorecord_?” his voice went up.

“I assure you, we need a man of your talents to retrieve it from the person who stole it,” the man answered, keeping that calm authoritative edge to his voice.

Barry let out a dry laugh, “You don't say. Something tells me this is a job best fit for the police, not a bounty hunter,” he huffed, he tossed the data-pad on the metal storage tank without any further contemplation.

The man's face screwed up, and wrinkles of disgust appeared on his face. He threw something at him; far from being startled he caught it in mid-air. It was a round Hologram Projection pod. He sneered at the man, respect aside, eyes wide open and quirked eyebrows, mouth crooked in annoyance.

The Senator shot him another conceited glare and twiddled his fingers, pointing vaguely at the hardware in question. Barry pressed the sides of the projector and a tridimensional hologram emerged from its concave surface. The face of a woman, hair pulled back in a ponytail.

"The thief, I presume," he noted with a shrug, fighting down the urge to toss the device back at the man.

The politician bowed his head lightly for all response. Barry's attention focused back on the hologram in his hand. Her face was expressionless, as it had been taken from some sort of record. It didn't seem like a capture from a holocam from the thousands, he presumed, the Empire had installed all over the city and, especially, on Imperial buildings.

His stomach clenched. The whole affair smelled as beautifully as a Mos Espa street.

"I gather you have no intell on her," he finally managed to blurt out, a silly appreciation on his part. If they had, they wouldn't be asking him to find her.

"The only thing we know is that she's on the run, armed and dangerous," the Zabrak female, who had remained silent ever since her chief had shushed her, unfolded her arms and approached swaying, "we presume she is about to get off-world."

"The information on that holorecord can stir up conflict," the man chimed in, his voice suddenly took on a grave tone, "I assume I don't have to explain how that can be a problem, considering the state of the newly established Empire."

Oh, so whatever had been stolen could turn the Senate upside down in a heartbeat. Well, that was interesting indeed, not to mention _extremely dangerous_. He started to wonder if this woman wasn't some sort of professional bounty hunter, hired by the uprising Rebel cells spreading like wildfire throughout systems since the Empire'd started seizing control over planets —to settle internal conflicts, so they have explained on the HoloNet broadcasts.

"If those recordings fall into the wrong hands, all the Empire efforts to restore order in the galaxy would be severely jeopardized," the man continued with a somewhat harsher, harder voice, "do you understand now why no official security party can be involved in its retrievement?" his tone turned derisive.

"Will you take the job or not?" the woman asked, stiffening.

 _Sensitive information_. If it ended up on the wrong hands it could stir up yet another political crisis of unknown proportions. And now _he_ knew this woman had this intell, he knew about the degree of severity of its content— all that knowledge alone put him into a tight spot as well. There was no coincidence the woman had suddenly stiffened on her spot. Even though the underworld didn't have the proper services of the upper levels, he had managed to make out the concealed blaster—

There was one course of action he could take.

"I'm in."

 

* * *

 

 

He blinked repeatedly, trying to wipe the blurriness away. His head throbbed. When he tried to sit upright, a sharp stab of pain teared through his chest and right shoulder. He collapsed back on whatever he'd been resting on. He swallowed; his tongue felt the roof of his mouth, finding it unpleasantly dry.

In the midst of his dizziness, he attempted a quick damage assessment. Injured upper body, to unknown extent —although judging by the breathtaking pain that swept through him at a mere twitch of his muscles, it surely wasn't light. Lack of hydration, by the state of his mouth and his scratchy throat, and… _prisioner_?

He yanked his arm towards him one more time, and the clanking rung again. His eyes narrowed, but he couldn't focus his gaze enough to make out anything. He felt something icy cold on his right wrist— he stood corrected after a second, he'd make that on both of his wrists.

He tried to slide his arm off the trapping device, but he couldn't move without being overwhelmed by pain. His nostrils flared and he bit the inside of his cheek. He could move his legs alright, if he could break free from those restraints he could escape from whomever was holding him captive.

He tried not to pay attention to the way his stomach clenched into a tight knot. If it had been the Empire who had captured him, there wasn't much he could do without proper backup, trapped in what could most likely be a detention center —which would invariably had a pretty good amount of officials and Stormtroopers to sweep past unnoticed.

He took a deep breath and tried one more time. He clenched his jaw until his teeth grinded. He couldn't pinpoint if the pain was coming from the pressure he was inflicting upon himself or from the wound he'd across his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut—

The cuffs were sagging off his hands, he had managed to slither them as far as his mid-palm. He winced, only a few inches left and he could be off—

But pain swept through him again. Not the sharp throbbing type he'd felt burning on his chest, but rather a numbing, blinding pain that made his heart skip a beat. He couldn't keep the scream in anymore. In the confusing haze of his turmoil, he could have sworn he'd heard a siren blaring.

"Don't move!" the stern commanding voice wasn't what kept his body from tensing at the sudden jolts sweeping through him, but the sudden, inexplicable tremendous force on his whole body that pushed him still onto the stretcher.

Amidst his current realm of anguish he could make sense of the voice. His head spun even with his eyelids shielding his gaze, and when he opened his eyes he was greeted by a whirl of blurred colour palletes that mingled into unknown hues and shades. The dizziness turned his stomach, his muscles suddenly tensed and his body jerked upwards, as if it had a mind of its own. He tried to fight down the urge to gag.

He felt yet another alien push that kept him still, unable to even flinch even though he was sure his brain was giving away such command to his body. But somehow, this second time calmness spread through him, as a soft ethereal caress washed it away; a gentle touch that lulled the pain into oblivion.

His eyelids fluttered open, but the world before him kept whirling. He heard a beep along with a metallic click and clank. So they were stun cuffs; that certainly explained a lot. He attempted to rub his throbbing head with the back of his hand, but the twitch on his muscles reminded him to lay still. He squeezed his eyes shut again. He heard footsteps, the ruffle of cloth. He sniffed a sharp peculiar smell in the air; its edge of piercing bitterness—

A medcenter?

No. If that were the case, then he could make no sense of the stun cuffs.

There was, hovewer, the distinctive set of low sounds soon filled the silence that had settled over the room. Short, low sounds that resembled mewls, low hoots. He winced. A Bioscan?

"You're wounded," the same voice that had instructed him to keep still resonated again; there was a calmer edge to it now. It was a smooth voice, but it carried an edge of coldness and harshness that clashed with the obvious care its owner was conducting upon him, "keep still. Your injuries are not healed yet."

After a while, he went for it again and opened his eyes. He let out a sigh of relief when he was greeted by clearer, more defined, surroundings. Granted, focusing his gaze didn't seem to be his forte right then, but at least his present environment had stopped being an amorphous view.

He could distinguish the durasteel of the ceiling, which only kept adding questions to his confusion. He tilted his head to the right; whomever had helped him had its turned towards him, reclined over a work desk. There was small storage boxes, their contents scattered on the table. He squinted, swiveled and rested his weight on his forearm, his lips tightened at the sudden sting on his arm. There were syringes and patches; that much he could identify from that distance. His nose twitched involuntarily when that bitter smell grew stronger.

The figure turned and Barry looked up instinctively. His breath itched in his throat. She held his gaze, staring right back at him, but her brown eyes irradiated an impossibly steely, cold emotion rather than warmth. She covered the remaining meters separating her from the stretcher with a resolved stride.

That definitely was the girl he was after a few days ago, the very same girl he fought and also the very same girl that had completely overpowered him. He had no precise recollection of what'd went down exactly, the last thing he remembered distinctly being knocked in the head pretty badly. He did remember he'd spent almost a day pursuing her on Galactic City, even preventing her from taking a refugee transport setting off-world—

Why did she help him? It didn't seem like a reasonable course of action for somebody who was on the run, trying to escape from the Empire claws. Had it been him, he'd have actually let Galactic City deal with his chaser.

"Lay down," she commanded, a little too harsh for his liking, breaking his reflections.

He obeyed as fast as his battered body allowed him to do so. He'd a feeling she wouldn't find it difficult to make him comply, given his current state, he was in no position to swim against the tide. He sprawled back on the bed, his eyes actually going wide when he realized that was his Vibroblade on her hand, cutting cautiously through the patches on his torso. He clenched his jaw when she moved aside the bandage tentatively with her fingers, and that nasty mixture of sweat, blood and antiseptic sticking the bandage and the wound together teared at the injury.

And then, without any warning, with one swift movement, she detached the bandage mess from his chest. His nostrils flared and he winced. It felt as if she had just peeled off his skin. He tried to see the degree of damage, but her hand was ready on his un-injured shoulder to push him on the matress again.

"What happened?"

"You're wounded," was her eloquent response.

"I kind of reached to that conclusion already, all by myself," he rejoined through gritted teeth, "I mean what— kind of wound?" he breathed, channeling the whimper of pain successfully.

She didn't answer right away, too engrossed wiping off the remains of old antiseptic from the swollen, itching area. She scooped a bit of a suspicious yellow-greenish paste from a nearby glass jar and spread it on the wound. His nose twitched, and he'd to fight down the urge to flinch away from her touch whenever her fingers swept over a, yet, too sensitive and torn portion of the injury in question. It teared, stung, itched, all at the same time.

"You got burned," she prompted then, as she turned to grab new patches.

"I don't remember blaster burns hurting this bad," he commented, trying to make some conversation to cute the awkward atmosphere. She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. He shot her a smile in return— it should have come at no surprise to him when she rolled her eyes at him.

The wound kept itching, and even if it torn every muscle fiber on his body, he jerked his arm forward to scratch it. He couldn't, however, follow that course of action. She patted away the intrusive hand hovering over the exact spot she was bandaging, harshly.

"Hey!"

"Do you want me to cuff you again?" she questioned.

"It itches," he waved his hand vaguely and ended up scratching his neck instead, "and hurts."

"It's a burn, after all," she noted, impasivelly.

"Why are you helping me? I was after you," Barry finally let out the question that had been bugging him since he realized who his savior was, "why didn't you left me there?"

"You were _trying_ to go after me," she corrected, with that very same flat tone she'd used since she'd uttered a sound, " _who_ do you think wounded you?"

"You?" his voice went up too much for his own liking.

She shot him a wicked grin as she placed the last bacta patch, or rather, pressed it on his chest with more force than deemed necessary. He groaned in turn, which only made her smile widen. He glared at her, as he brushed his fingers over that last patch in a vain effort to calm the sore ache.

"Stay put," she ordered with an accusatory raised finger, "the analgesics I've given you should be kicking in within half an hour, or less, you would be able to be on your way then," she added, tossing the remaining unused bacta patches, the glass jar and other items he couldn't identify into a backpack.

He swayed his legs to sit on the edge of the stretcher. He grabbed his side as he stood up, paying no heed to the way she glared and huffed at him. He staggered to rest his weight on the wall, awfully conscious there was really nothing he could do to stop her from fleeing away. He sighed at the thought of how many hours he'd have to spend looking for her after this encounter, if by some sort of miracle she didn't manage to escape Coruscant before he was recovered enough to stand another round against her.

"I guess that you won't give me the holorecord even if I ask nicely, right?" he asked casually.

Her grip on the backpack strap tightened suddenly, and when she turned around there was an edge of menace in the way her frown hardened her face. Her gaze wasn't steely, rather piercing.

"You will have to try take it from me," she retorted, acidly, storming her way to the door she added, "and giving how the last time turned out for you, I'll advise against it. Unless you got a death wish."

"Oh, so I get you won't nurse me next time?" his voice rung, amused.

"In your dreams, rascal," the durasteel clanking with every step she took to the doorway.

He chuckled, shaking her head. Surprisingly, she spun on her heels and stepped into the room, just one foot in, and looked at him dead in the eye. Her face had no reminiscence of the vacant gentleness that it'd worn as she cleansed the wound; the harsh stoicism etched to it gave actually the opposite impression.

"Your shirt and armour are at the end of the hallway. Don't follow me, or you'll regret it," she warned, Barry was surprised she'd used the same monotone tone even though there'd clearly been a change in her mood.

"Isn't that contradicting? Threatening the life of the man you've just saved?" he kept insisting, curling his lips into a tiny smile without really intending to, trudging his way to the door, "why don't you give me the holo? And then we can both part in peace—"

"I won't, and don't push it," she answered, gravely; her right hand came to rest at her hip.

He tilted his head, and tried another angle. "Why do you want to risk your life for a holorecord? Clearly the Empire won't stop sending bounty hunters, or worse assasins, after you until they get it back," he added, an edge of graveness to his voice too, "do you have a death wish?"

She laughed at him, quirking an eyebrow, "if this is the quality of professionals they're going to hire to go after me, I have no reason to be worried, do I?" Oh, well, that was a low blow, "It's none of your business," she added then, almost hissing, "but if you're so curious about it— I need it as _proof_ , to expose the Empire for their crimes."

He let out a dry laugh at that argument, shaking his head, his eyes squinted when he couldn't bit down another laughter, "so you're planning on _overthrowing_ the Empire, is that it?"

She spun around and walked down the darkened hallway. Barry wouldn't be able to explain later the reason why he went after her, but he found himself staggering behind her, trying to catch up with her pace. Was it the fact he was literally seeing his reward sliding from his grasp? Perhaps. The dread of what owing a debt may cost him? Not precisely. It intrigued him, above all else, what was so important about that damn holorecord that this girl was willing to risk her life for, what was so dangerous that could trigger another political crisis in an already unstable galaxy, he needed to know why the content of that holorecord was so powerful to reconstruct the course of history.

So he ran after her. He ran, the adrenaline and his own obstinacy numbing every shade of pain. He ran down the darkened alley and grabbed her arm, pulling her towards her, already trying to talk her out of her own stubbornness, the well-constructed argument ready on his mind—

But out of the blue, there was an alien hissing sound. The dark alley around them plunged into darkness came to life, bathed into a bright yellow light. His whole body froze as he stared at the fire of menace radiating from in her eyes. Heat licked at his throat, the buzz almost deafening.

At last, that burn injury _made sense_. His throat bobbed, too afraid to move even an inch too far, he held his breath. The flickering bronze glow and shadows playing on her skin made her grimace appear even more threatening and deadly.

_The lightsaber kept buzzing, hovering inches away from his throat._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't fret, I haven't forgotten about writing how Iris defeated Barry. How can I? Iris as a Jedi is everything, and Barry's Mandalorian armor has nothing against her Jedi skills, you'll see ;) Thanks for reading! Hope you've enjoyed the story so far :)


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